


Upstream

by Myth_is_a_Mirror



Category: Midnight Poppy Land (Webcomic)
Genre: F/M, Flirting, Fluff and Humor, Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:48:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24866338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myth_is_a_Mirror/pseuds/Myth_is_a_Mirror
Summary: One night, Poppy's star client, Quincey, asks her to help beta read one of his new stories. His unconventional gameplan has her roleplaying the love interest with none other than Tora.Fiction becomes fact as things turn a little silly and a little sexy.
Relationships: Tora/Poppy
Comments: 26
Kudos: 177





	Upstream

**Author's Note:**

> Song on Repeat: ["It Rains"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5zrQSpWmEGI) by Archie Faulks.
> 
> Note: This was for a summer writers/artists collaboration asking for a "Notebook" (movie) worthy kiss. My take isn't modeled after the famous kiss-in-the-rain (even though it is raining) but rather the "If you're a bird" scene at the beach (my personal favorite moment in the movie).

The scent of garlic and tomato sauce hit Poppy first, making her stomach grumble in hunger _._ She entered the swanky penthouse Quincey called home for the second time, finding him stirring sauce on the stove in a frilly apron. 

He couldn’t see her in the dark alcove entryway, so she leaned against the wall and closed her eyes to catch her breath. Work had been non-stop. Not a bad thing since business was booming, but it felt like she was swimming against the current, barely keeping her head above water despite her success in signing up new clients. She imagined her father leaning over and booping her nose. _Anything worth doing, is worth doing right. The koi swam upstream a hundred years to pass the dragon gate. You’re one in a million, Poppy._

Emotion tightened her throat, unexpected like always. She sniffed and shook her head. Poppy was working hard, but she needed to. She had plans, dreams of making her family proud and carving out a new life for herself. And while it was odd that Quincey wanted her to beta read late in the evening, she was willing to put in the work.

The circumstances of her arrival at the secretive author’s home were much less stressful than the first time they’d met. A week ago, she’d carried a bleeding teenager into his pristine home. A lot had changed since then, she thought, blushing at the husky voice she’d recognize anywhere. 

Tora.

“Oi! Stop it with the salt. It’s bad for ya blood pressure,” Tora strolled into sight with his back to her and leaned against the kitchen counter.

She shut the door quietly and dropped her heavy messenger bag on the floor, watching the two old friends interact. Quincey smirked at Tora as he sprinkled more salt in the sauce. The tall bodyguard snatched the little jar out of his hands and slid it out of reach. Pouting, Quincey picked up the pepper, and Tora drummed his long fingers over the countertop to a steady tempo, strong but delicate fingers that always drew her attention.

Poppy didn't know where she and Tora stood. They were friends. Well, a little more than friends, at least on her part. Maybe on his too, but it was hard to tell if his flirtation was genuine or how he acted with all women. Sometimes, he'd say outrageous things like, “sleep with me” or ask for a kiss on the cheek. The flirtation seemed almost forced, like a test, or what he expected her to expect of him. It twisted her up.

Poppy wanted to be his friend, not a conquest. Even imagining what being his conquest meant, at his mercy, under him, had her lips pursing around the mental lie. She wanted more than friendship, but it was complicated, and she was letting her mind wander again. It happened so easily around the brooding best friend of her company’s highest profile client. She sighed and rubbed her forehead. Back to the task at hand.

“I’m here to help!” she declared in a sunny tone.

Tora’s look of shock as he spun in her direction surprised her. Was she not welcome? He must have seen her face fall because he granted her a tiny smile, the almost imperceptible tilt up on one side with a crinkle at his eyes before turning a silent glare to Quincey.

She tugged on her button-down shirt, willing the gaps that always opened at her cleavage to act right and stay closed for once! Donuts for breakfast, lunch, and dinner might not be the best way to make sure her clothes fit properly, but she was a busy lady. A career woman!

“Poppy-poo. Honey bear! There you are and right on time!” Everything with Quincey was a production, even waltzing from his kitchen to the front door. The musical sway of his hips made the floofy puffs on his slippers dance. His silly apron reading " _Kiss the ~~Cock~~ Cook_" had her giggling as he approached. His arm looped around her shoulders, and he spun them to face Tora. 

“My dear colleague, Poppylan Wilkes is joining us this evening.” He turned back to her, the scent of mint and alcohol on his breath. “Welcome to the fold. You’re among the elite now, darling. Q.B.’s trusted beta readers.”

She swallowed, seeing Tora cross his arms, fingers drumming along his twitching forearm. He'd been the famous author’s beta reader for years, a closely guarded secret. Perhaps he didn’t want her honing in on his territory.

“Thank you Quincey.” Poppy smiled up at him. “I don’t want to disturb the established beta reading process you two have. Please don’t let me be a burden. I’m happy to transcribe, take notes, or whatever is most helpful.”

Tora sighed and strolled to the couch. While his ass was amazing, his long hair swishing at his shoulders caught the light just so. She imagined it must be impossibly soft and smell like him. Poppy had to blink to stop herself from staring. Quincey’s Secret Garden stories must be getting to her. They were fantasy fodder. _He’s your friend, dummy, and too close to your star author to get entangled with. This is work, girl!_

“You’ll be a great help to me, Poppy dear,” Quincey whispered in her ear. “While Tora has good real world feedback, there’s something missing.”

Poppy felt a pang of sympathy on Tora’s behalf to think Quincey found him lacking in any way. She’d always found Q.B.’s short stories stimulating...mentally of course. Tora must have done well to get the writing to where it was.

“Sit here.” He pushed her into the tiny space between Tora and the edge of the couch, even though there was more room literally anywhere else. “Let me grab a drink.”

“And my bag!” Poppy twisted to yell at him. Turning back, Tora’s side gaze made her stutter. “F-f-for notes.”

“Cat got your tongue?”

She coughed and lowered her voice. “I don’t want to come between you and Quincey, really. This was all at his request. If anything, I’m happy to leave if you feel it will disturb your process with him.”

“Quincey’s idea, huh?” His gaze darted over her features, dipping down the top of her shirt only for a moment. Was he blushing? “You’re not interrupting anything, sweetheart. Glad to have the help. He’s a real princess when it comes to his writing. Maybe you can talk some sense into him on some of the more unrealistic fantasies.”

Unrealistic fantasies. Poppy knew a thing or two about those, watching his lush mouth move, perfectly curled eyelashes, and the tendons of his neck jump as he turned back to Quincey for a beat.

“What kind of fantasies?”

“He likes the romance of it all, but misses the details.” Tora reached over and straightened the collar of her shirt. She tried not to fidget under the attention, but her nipples didn’t get the message, poking out like heat seeking missiles. Heat. That’s what he was. His whole body emanated it.

“Details?” Her word was a soft exhale.

“Like a pirate wouldn’t have soft hands.” His hand fell to her shoulder, thumb rubbing over her neck. His other hand grabbed hers in a gentle hold. “Now, your hands could be described as soft and cute.”

She chuckled, embarrassed at how hot she could feel her cheeks were already. “You’ve mentioned that before.”

“But a rough pirate?” Tora's eyebrows furrowed as Quincey’s humming voice grew closer. “I don’t think so.”

Just like that, the spell was broken. Was she crazy to see the chemistry they had? Was that an unrealistic fantasy? She took a cleansing breath.

Quincey tossed two packets of stapled paper on their laps. Mojito in hand, he settled into a seat farther away, leafing through the pages with a serious look on his face. “Let’s start in the middle of page twelve.”

Tora didn’t even turn or look at the paper. He just rubbed the lace edge of Poppy’s collar while she tried to get it together. She straightened and pulled away, trying to turn to the right page and focus. _Focus! Middle of page twelve. Got it._

Tora twisted away, and his papers rustled too. The trio read in silence for a bit. Poppy sensed her blush deepen from the salacious words on the page. _The two of them read this together? Regularly?_

“Hey guys. The silent act doesn’t work for me. Can you read it aloud, please?”

“Out loud?” Tora grumbled.

Quincey’s fingers danced in a swirling motion, before leaning back to sip his drink. “Just to hear the natural flow of the scene.” 

Tora coughed and looked sideways at Poppy briefly, before turning back to the rough draft in his hands. "It was raining, and the two people, only recently strangers, stood at the side of a swift river. Leaning down, the warrior clutched the pirate by the neck. The clock on the dragon gate chimed midnight. Each moment they dallied was stolen and precious. His thick fingers dug into her soft flesh, pulling them together, so close he could smell her sweet breath."

"No, no, no.” Quincey sat forward, elbows on his knees. “The vibe isn’t right at all. I can’t get a _sense_ for it.”

His unhappy glare moved from Tora to Poppy. She bristled, worried she hadn’t done what she was supposed to and reached for her bag. _Take notes, maybe? Oh dear, making a bad impression already._

“Back away from the notepad Poppy. You’re not writing anything. You’re reading for the pirate.” Quincey tipped his glass forward with an indulgent smile. 

“Just yesterday, the pirate was a man.” Tora adopted a mirror posture to Quincey, elbows braced on his knees, the papers rolled up like he was about to swat a fly.

“I changed my mind,” Quincey said. “Thanks to your advice, the pirate is softer this go round, and she fits the bill nicely. In fact, Popsicle, get into character. Why don’t you let the top couple buttons of your shirt loose. She’s a busty wench, after all.”

Her palm flew to her chest, and her face heated to the tips of her ears.

“What the ever living fuck!” Tora moved to stand up, but Poppy grabbed him by the arm. At her touch, he dropped back in his seat, gaze turning to her, tight with anger.

“You don’t have to…” His eyes fell to the top of her blouse, “...do that.”

She chewed on her lip and instead of answering him, unbuttoned one button. A silent compromise to Quincey and a cheeky temptation for her crush. It was enough that the next button strained to pop open too.

Tora’s eyes widened a fraction before he turned back around, rustling the papers with violence.

“That’s the spirit. Page twelve. Popparoo, why don’t you pick up where Tora left off?”

She pulled her hair to one side and straightened her posture. Oddly, with that button undone, she felt more comfortable... more daring. She smiled and read the next part, imitating her favorite audiobook narrators, “Even in the rain, her scent was a drug, straight to his heart. If sunshine had a smell, it was her. If the warm, salt spray of the sea had a smell, it was her. The mercenary pirate who stole his heart.”

She exhaled at the end of the diatribe and looked up to Quincey. The last thing she expected to be met with was a grimace.

“Poppy. That was Tora’s line. Well delivered, I’ll give you that. Now Tora, you say that bit so she can start right after.”

“She already said it and better than me.” Tora’s monotone voice belied the fact that he was blushing! Poppy smiled with pride at her performance.

“Such a lug.” Quincey exhaled in irritation and pointed to his friend while making eye contact with her. “You see what I have to put up with?”

“Come on, Tora,” Poppy said. “ We’ve barely made any progress, and I have to work early tomorrow.”

He exhaled loudly and propped one knee up on the couch so he faced her fully. Gingerly, he reached out until his hand rested on her shoulder, fingers barely touching the arch where her neck and shoulder met. “Alright, sweetheart.”

And just like that, she was blushing again. She pulled the papers halfway up her face, pretending to read as he began, “Her scent was a drug, straight to his heart. If sunshine had a smell, it was h-”

“No, no, no!!!” Quincey stood and chugged the rest of his drink before the glass clinked to the metal tray. “You two are impossible! The warrior is supposed to be clutching the pirate, bending over her as he thinks these things. Chop! Chop!” His hand flew wildly in circles.

“This is ridiculous.” Tora shot a death glare at his friend. 

“I need to SEE if this makes sense...the physics of it, you know!"

None of this was going to plan. She was clearly a distraction between the two, and despite her feelings for Tora, Quincey was her client. She needed to get this right.

"Don't worry…” Poppy whispered to Tora to calm his nerves, popping open another button on her blouse. In for a penny, in for a pound when playing a busty wench. “It's just...for science."

“And lust!” Quincey grabbed his glass and darted back into the kitchen. “I’m parched. You two want anything?”

“Nah.” “No, thank you,” they answered over each other.

“Perfect, two champagnes coming right up.”

Tora huffed out a quiet laugh, eyes on her cleavage for a split second before guiltily rising to her face.

“He’s always like this?” Poppy asked.

“No offense, but it’s easier without a second reader." His hand settled more firmly on her shoulder, fingers tracing up and down the top bumps of her spine. She shivered at the strangely intimate touch. "I play video games, and he reads. But Princess watched a movie awards show last week and has it in his head he could be a director. This is all a bit much, don’t ya think?”

Poppy gulped and glanced down at her shirt, worried she looked indecent from his taller perspective. The slight movement brushed her face against the heel of his hand where he held her. No, _clutched_ her.

“Not that I’m complaining.” His quiet voice had her looking up. Those amber eyes danced over her, like he was seeing her for the first time. He always looked at her like she was a mystery. _Me? Or is it just my overactive imagination?_

“I’m glad you don’t feel like I’m invading your territory,” she said as his other arm moved up the back of the couch. The shadow of him and his clean, soapy smell enveloped her. 

“Invade my life all ya want.” His fingers rubbed up to the divot at the base of her skull. Why was he doing that? He was everywhere. Oh dear. Perhaps her feelings weren’t as one sided as she feared. Hot and cold with him. And just like that, he tensed at the sound of Quincey shuffling up.

“Don’t move a muscle you big oaf. The chemistry is finally perfect for the scene. Now…” Quincey dropped a giant tray of food and drinks on the coffee table. He inspected them both before lining his hands up like they were in a picture frame. "...Action."

Tora tugged her earlobe with a wink and let his free arm drop down to the seat, hovering just between her thigh and the couch cushion. Every breath and movement drew them closer.

“Her scent was a drug, straight t-”

“More feeling!” Quincey barked.

Tora glared sideways, voice growing louder, “Her scent was a drug, stra-”

“TO HER AND LIKE YOU MEAN IT OR I’M TELLING MY FATHER YOU’RE A TERRIBLE BODYGUARD!”

Tora growled, his hand on the couch reflexively closing, right around her butt. Poppy flinched, and he froze. Taking a quick breath, he turned back to her, gaze worried and searching. She couldn’t believe the effect she seemed to have on him. It was hard to see when it was just her and him, but around Quincey it was obvious. He didn’t treat her like a friend at all. 

“Her scent was a drug, straight to his heart.” His voice melted over her like hot fudge, doing delicious, messy things to her insides. He pulled her closer with a tighter grip around her neck, his other hand lightly cupping the top swell of her ass. She was burning under the intensity of his gaze. “If sunshine had a smell, it was her. If the warm, salt spray of the sea had a smell, it was her. The mercenary pirate who stole his heart.”

The last line he couldn’t say without smiling, a grin with dimples. God help her, they were close enough to kiss, not that she was thinking about kissing anyone in the middle of a very professional beta reading session. His soft, smiling lips weren’t kissable at all. She certainly didn’t want to nibble at them or run her tongue along the seam. Maybe just a litt-

A vigorous clapping startled her. Quincey gave them a standing ovation. “Fina-fucking-ly. Ohhhh how I suffer for my art, but sometimes it’s worth it.”

It was then Poppy realized Tora hadn’t looked at the draft at all when saying it, like he had it memorized, like he’d worked on those lines with Quincey before. Watching his intense half lidded gaze, she wondered how much of Tora was in _The Secret Garden_ after all. 

Tora squeezed the back of her neck once and turned back to Quincey. He reclined on the couch, winding his hand behind her and resting his huge palm on top of her thigh, possessive and intimate. Rather than flinch or shrug away, she cuddled closer. This was...nice. And her author, Quincey, didn’t seem to mind the close contact. He seemed to be encouraging it. As Tora propped a foot up on the coffee table, Poppy got frisky and dropped her hand on his bent knee, squeezing it lightly. A...friendship knee. She laughed to herself. Who was she kidding?

Quincey rustled through the papers and scratched his head, taking notes as he did.

When her stomach grumbled, she leaned forward and grabbed a strawberry, dipping it in a small bowl of Nutella. After half a dozen of those, some crackers with cheese, and chugging a flute of champagne, her stomach felt settled. She bypassed the giant plate of spaghetti with one meatball, a weird snack for guests.

"You seem pleased, Quinceton." Tora hugged her closer slightly and she melted a little more. "We gonna keep reading or ya got somethin’ else for us?

“I’m so glad you asked. We’re recreating a scene from _The Lady and the Tramp_ for my next novel!”

“The what in the what?” Tora asked.

Poppy took another long look at the plate of spaghetti and the large meatball. _Oh._

“Quincey, I’m here to beta read,” she said. “Not eat spaghetti with no hands.”

“Sure thing, booboo,” Quincey said.

“No hands?” Tora spun to her then back to Quincey. “Will someone tell me what the hell’s going on?”

Quincey held a giant knife in his hand that he’d been cutting fruit with and pointed it at Tora. “Listen! We know dogs can eat spaghetti with just their mouths, but does it seem...you know...feasible with humans?”

Poppy giggled to herself and pulled one long noodle from the rest, putting one end between her lips and nudging Tora to hand him the other end. 

“What the helllll?”

“She’s the Lady. You’re the Tramp.” Quincey stabbed the sharp end of the knife into the wooden part of the table and made kissing sounds. “Now, Poppy. Slurp!”

She laughed so hard the noodle fell out of her mouth, and she covered her face with both hands, shaking her head at the absurdity of the night. Beta reading turned into...this?

“Tora, put the noodle in your mouth!” Quincey said.

“I’m gonna punch you in your noodle and both meatballs!” Tora shouted at Quincey, his face beet red. 

“Let’s move on to the meatball, shall we?” Quincey backed off with a calmer demeanor, one hand rubbing his chin. He looked at the giant meatball, then Tora, then the meatball again. “Hmmmm...nudging that over to her with your nose seems weird, let's try it with your di--"

“We're outta here.” Tora stood up and grabbed Poppy's hand just as she reached for more strawberries covered in nutty chocolate sauce. It was then she really took in the tray he’d brought in. Spaghetti. Strawberries. Bananas. Were those oysters?

Tora grabbed the plate of spaghetti in one hand, and dragged Poppy to the kitchen. He dumped the food in a to-go container and snapped the lid closed. On the way back through the living room, he dropped the food in her bag and shouldered it.

“Poppy's got an early day at work tomorrow. I've read this part with ya so many times I could say it in my sleep. She gets paid during office hours. Talk to her then. I’m takin’ her home.”

Quincy watched them with amusement. He lifted two cans, a cheeky smirk breaking over his face. “But we didn't even get to the whipped cream.”

 _Whipped cream?_ Poppy was too shocked to do anything except not stumble as Tora dragged her out the front door.

Quincy’s laugh tinkled down the hallway. Just as the door slammed shut, he yelled, “Don't do anything I _would_ do!”

Tora walked so fast she had to run to keep up. When they reached the stairs, he looked back. She knew she looked a mess, sweating bullets.

“We really didn't have to leave. I'm sorry if I made the whole thing weird.” Poppy remembered that her shirt was half unbuttoned, like the first time they’d met on the train. She clutched the top of it together and the first question that came to mind fell out. “What’s up with the spaghetti anyway?”

Tora's brows furrowed. “You looked hungry.”

“That’s nice, but I mean...why did Quincey do all that with the food and the play acting?”

“Cuz he’s an asshole.”

“Okay. That makes zero sense.” 

Tora sighed and eased his hold on her hand, guiding them down the stairs at a slower pace until they reached the outdoor awning.

“Damn it to hell! &%$#!” His cursing could barely be heard over the pounding rain and low thunder in the distance.

“I’ll take the train home!” Poppy shouted at his back, trying to tug the bag off his shoulder. “It’s just around the corner.

“No fuckin’ way in this weather. I'm drivin’. Ya know how it is.”

He turned back to watch the rain, and she didn’t say anything, but a realization dawned. She did know how it went with him. He was always like this. Irritable and quiet, yes. But the spaghetti, dragging her out of Quincey's, and driving her home were only a few examples of actions that spoke to something more. He took care of her. Always.

Hope bloomed in her chest, a surprise ending to a very strange night.

He looked back at her in a quick assessment before swiftly tearing off his long sleeve shirt. Her jaw dropped seeing him bare chested in public for no conceivable reason. Then, he laid the sweater over her head and tied a quick knot below her chin.

“Now you can stay dry. Let's go.”

Without waiting for a reply, he darted into the storm, leaving Poppy no choice in his firm grip but to run as fast as her legs would carry her. He clutched her bag against his stomach, hunched over to shield it from rain. The rain pelted him, dripping down his hair like dark, melting icicles. When they made it to his car, he unlocked the passenger side and tried to push her in. But she’d had just about enough being pushed around for one night. 

Poppy braced her arms against the top of the car and stood firm against him trying to guide her in. She glared over her shoulder.

“Stop it. What is going on? What was all of that back there with Quincey?”

“You're getting wet.” He didn’t answer her, instead puffing up the edge of his shirt around her face to keep her dry. 

She turned around and ripped the shirt off, throwing it behind her into the car. “I don't care.”

“I do.”

He wasn’t talking about the rain. A feral look came over his bright eyes as he leaned closer, planting his hands on the side of the car. She was crowded in. It was heavenly.

“I care about you. Quincy was fuckin’ with me, because he knows that.”

She swallowed. “Me?”

“Yeah, you.” Quieter now, he stared at her mouth, licking the rain from his lips. A shiver skated through her whole body. Water pelted them, but all she could track was his movement as he leaned forward, how their wet clothes just made everything more wild.

“Oh.” The tiny word escaped her on an exhale. Not thinking, just acting, she looped her hands behind his neck and pulled up for dear life. He sank down at the same time on a groan, and their lips crashed together. 

Wet, warm, so delicious. The rain beat down like the wild monsoon, but she didn’t care. She was finally kissing him. It was like the movies, like the middle of a song when the whole theme comes together, and all the hints and clues make sense. No, better than that. His soft lips slicked over hers, demanding and desperate. His long, seeking tongue sought entrance. A dance. A delicious meal. There was nothing like it. Not music or art.

He moved over her, the whole bulk of him bent to knowing her. His hands and mouth sought her out like he couldn't get close enough. More and more, their bodies twisted together. She gave back, hungry for every teasing pass of his lips, every slide of his tongue and bite of his teeth.

After exploring each other breathless, he pulled back. One tiny, chaste peck was follow by another, fingers carding through her hair, like he wanted to hold back but couldn’t.

“Get in the car, please,” he whispered against her lips.

Her hands dropped from behind his neck to run over his thick, bare shoulders and slowly down his chest. She admired the body art she’d only caught glimpses of before. In the dark night, under street lamps and through distant flashes of lightning, he was nothing less than a pagan god come to life.

“You’re all wet,” he said, kissing the side of her mouth then twisting to kiss the other side.

She shook her head, chuckling. This was a warm summer rain. She'd played in rainstorms worse than this as a child. Adults didn’t do things like that, certainly not career women who worked themselves to the bone and forgot to eat dinner.

The whole night had been more fun than she’d expected, first reading that silly story and now this - kissing _him_. She wasn’t a professional woman keeping her head above water against mounting responsibilities. She was a kid again. Full of silly dreams.

And he should be too.

Her hands drifted lower, fingers tucking inside his waistband and sliding around to his hips. As her thumbs traced over the defined oblique muscles there, she looked up at him despite the pouring rain.

“I don't mind getting a little wet.”

His eyes sparked with mirth. “Is that so, Bobby?”

“It is so. I’m a dragon koi!” She wanted to pretend, remembering how her father always told her the tale of the fish who swam a hundred years against the current. For all their toil and trouble they’d one day be rewarded. Why not find some fun now, in the midst of the falling water while they swam for their lives?

Poppy loved the feel of the rain soaking through her clothes, making her into something new. She didn’t want to get in his car and go home. All that could wait. She wanted to steal time and be wild like the lovers in Quincey’s story. 

“Water is my home. I’ve been swimming upstream my whole life,” she grinned up at him.

“You’re a fish, huh?” His jaw rolled to stop the amused smile he fought back. They were standing in a rainstorm and still he held back, but only just.

She nodded her head with the vigor of a child and decided to go for it. Her thumb played over his tightening nipple, the one at the tail of his own red and black koi tattoo. When his jaw clenched, a thrill shot through her, filling her with moxie. “I'm a dragon koi, and so are you.”

His humor faded to a softer, meaningful look. The rumbling sky above them and the rain everywhere wasn’t even there. It was just the two of them, in a quiet moment apart from the world. “Upstream for a hundred years sounds familiar.”

“Say it.” She patted his chest over his heart, the light splat of water on his slick skin. She refused to let him kill the fun with bad memories. This was about the present or the future, not the past. “You’re a dragon koi.”

“I’m a fish?” He leaned close and gripped her by the nape, voice ghosting over her ear as he kissed her lightly. She felt the swell of his cheeks, knowing he was smiling again as he kissed further down her neck. Her hair stood on end, and she arched against him, rubbing like a cat. He pulled back to look at her again.

“You're a fish,” she said in a daze, blinking back the rain that fell softer now. They were so close their lips almost touched, breaths shared. Her eyes crossed to look at him, but there was so much to see. Delight, surprise, playfulness, and still a hint of confusion.

He rubbed his nose against hers then bit the tip of it. “If you’re a fish, then I’m a fish.”

“Good!” She pushed against his chest. Surprised, he took a step back. 

With the quickest of moments, she darted away like fate had thrown her into a river headed to a waterfall. Over her shoulder, she yelled, “First one to the dragon gate wins.”

She recognized the neighborhood, even in the dark. That stupid purple building everyone said was blue was just up ahead, which meant the stairs were nearby. 

Sliding around the corner, she almost slipped on the wet pavement, laughing. 

And there it was. The stairs. The first time she had really looked at him and seen the real Tora. He wasn’t a criminal in a suit. He was a thoughtful friend, a good editor, and a great kisser.

In the rain, the stairs looked like a waterfall, the rapids rising up to the dragon gate. She gripped the metal railing, and pulled herself up the steps, careful but quick. His footsteps slapped against the wet pavement close behind.

Glancing back, she saw him following. Several paces behind, he stalked her like a cat. The dark lines of his tattoos over both shoulders had her believing him to be a tiger made man. 

“This the dragon gate, sweetheart?”

The rain had stopped, and it was just the chaotic, lightning far away that illuminated the stairs. Halfway up, she turned around and held out a hand, beckoning him forward. 

“ _This_ is the waterfall.” She wanted to tower over him again, like that day they ran through the city together. She wanted to brush the hair behind his ear and see that hidden vulnerability again. Most of all, she wanted to kiss him silly, just for the fun of it. “Fish like us have a hundred years to get to the top. We might as well enjoy our time swimming upstream.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you like my stuff (pretty much equally Lore Olympus and MPL at this point), subscribe here on AO3 or [follow me on twitter](https://twitter.com/mythisamirror) for updates and thirsty content. I’d love to hear from you in the comments :)
> 
> Standard disclaimer: Any similarity between this fan fiction and Midnight Poppy Land is due to being a super-fan who pays attention to details. Personally, I take no issue with any similarities that may arise as it would be a total coincidence or a good guess on my part. This is a fan fiction of LilyDusk's body of work, and she retains all rights to the characters and world.


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